Trade Up

Trading in chocolate men for chocolate bars...

Smooth Move, Kid

As luck would have it, while out with some friends of mine, I ran into a dear college friend last night at a local posh lounge.  He is in the same dance company as the son of a celebrity. "You have to meet him," he half-insists/half-mandates, "I want you two to get married and have fabulous beige babies together!" With an uncomfortable giggle in my voice I respond, "haha, well maybe we should meet first," then more calmly add, "I can't wait too long, though," I reason," I don't want to keep my friends waiting." My college friend insists the pseudo-celeb will be right back and that I should wait to meet him. My friends are anxious to leave, and running out of reasons to stall for this slight-celebrity encounter (and slightly nervous now that apparently pressure and expectations are on), I protest I must go.

I bid my college friend adieu and turn to leave the establishment. As I round the slight corner before the exit, my path is blocked by a tall, handsome, kind faced young man who looks exactly like his celebrity daddy.

Swag levels turned up, I contort my face in a "I know your face, but not your name" expression that then remains because, soon after I realize I am giving a true and complete stranger the "I know your face, but-" look, it becomes apparent that he has no idea who the [bleep] I am...This awkward first encounter seems to last for 5 minutes, when in reality it may have only been a few moments before my friend thankfully saves me from myself and formally introduces us.

Smooth move, kid.

Glee, Journey, and Tears

It's Memorial Day Weekend. While many of my friends are off to warmer climates or classy big city parties, I am sitting in front of my new laptop (Thanks, Mom and Sis!) drawing a writer's block for my application essay to what-I can only hope-will be the next step to my successful future.

For background noise, I am emptying out my DVR. While watching an episode of Fox's Glee, "Dreams", as Rachel Barry belts out Journey's "Don't Stop Believing", I burst into tears.

I had a cathartic, I-am-scarred-of-the-world-and-who-I-am-and-who-(if ever)-I-will-become cry. 

Like many in my generation, I was sold a dream of go to college=get great job= be featured on MTV's Cribs.


Since the later two legs of this journey has not yet come to fruition, I feel I am at a frustrating standstill between adulthood and successful-adulthood.

I understand that happiness is a journey with peaks and pitfalls. I'm just wondering if I get everything I thought I ever wanted, will I actually be successful and happy?

Relax, FB, I got priorities.

Facebook has become my concerned Jewish/Italian mother who just wants to be a grandmother before the decade is out. I'm now getting advertisements to "Meet Faithful Black Men" who are "Looking for Faithful Black Women". Good grief, FB, relax. Sell me shoes, purses, or sugar daddys.

A Reminder for the Ladies.

Functional Pedicure

The one to three toes you paint because you, Ms. Fashionista, will be wearing peep toe shoes tonight but you, Ms. Crunched-for-time Fashionista, were never really good at planning ahead.

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall...

Your mirror should have stopped you before leaving this morning and asked "What do you think you are doing leaving this house in that outfit?"


Just sayin'

It's easier finding a foundation...

I just checked my Match.com account. [I'm not proud of what I just said.]


I specifically set my age range from 23-33. I'm getting "winked" at by men who are 36+ (more often in their 40s and 50s) looking for women in my age range. Great, we're half way there...Just to spell it out for you and Match: I'm not interested in "silver foxes" as indicated by my age rage preference.


It's easier finding a foundation that matches my complexion...